The f*ck-its

I thought I was feeling better earlier this week.  Managing to maintain somewhat of a regular routine.  Went to work, cleaned the house, even went on a couple short runs with Lucy.  I felt like I was actually starting to get it together.  Then over the last couple of days it was like I was suddenly reliving the nightmare of last week all over again.  I now have a case of the fuck-its.  I am angry a lot of the time.  At other people.  At myself.  At life in general.  After a particularly bad day at work yesterday I came home and drank as much wine as I could stomach without throwing up (which, turned out to be only two small glasses.)  It was strawberry flavored, very sweet, and somewhat sickening.  But I didn't care.  Yesterday was a terrible day, and it followed a terrible night before.  And being at work is... difficult still. There are several co-workers of mine who are pregnant, which is so hard to be around....

I called in sick to work today.  I need some time off.  Time that should have been taken off last week.  Yesterday I nearly snapped and all but told a coworker to fuck-off when they did something I didn't agree with.  Completely out of character for me.  I think it was then that I decided that I was probably not going in today.  The dry mouth and headache this morning when my alarm went off confirmed it.

The one and only thing that gives me any sort of happy emotion these days are thinking about being pregnant again.  Not that another baby would ever take the place of the one that I lost...  But it is like something is missing now...  Something that I made and it was mine and I would have done anything to keep.  And I want it back...  Every night I still rub my coconut oil on my flattened belly and allow myself to pretend I still have a baby in there, even if just for a minute.  I don't know how this would even sound to other people, sad or crazy, or both.  I wish I could say there was something else for me to focus on but there really isn't.  Somewhat sad and pathetic I suppose, but I have really never wanted anything more.  Then I start to worry it's going to take a long time to conceive.  And when we do that this could happen again.  I have been worrying a lot about other things lately too.  Scared that family members are going to die.  What if something happened to Erik?  I worry every time he rides his bike.  Or drives his car...

And even with all of the hours (days, probably) I have into reading about pregnancy loss, and knowing that they all say "it's not my fault," I still can't help but wonder...  Was it the fact that I continued to run and exercise after I found out about the pregnancy?  Was the it 1/2 cup of green tea (and measly 15mg of caffeine it contained) that I was drinking in the mornings?  Was it Lucy's flea medicine I continued to put on her, even though I was wearing gloves every time and carefully washed my hands afterwards?   The list goes on...

I don't even know that I will publish this post...  I sound whiny with a pathetic "why me" attitude and kind of like a crazy person at the same time and I know it.  I suppose that this was more of a journal piece than anything else.  I am so hopeful that the only direction I go from here is up...